


Wolfe & Cawood

by beforedesire



Category: Happy Valley (TV), Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforedesire/pseuds/beforedesire
Summary: Bernie meets a police officer during her trip to Halifax.





	Wolfe & Cawood

 

She didn’t want to be in Halifax this weekend. Bernie would have rather stayed home and gotten in some quality time with her back porch and a bottle of Speyburn Whiskey. But instead, the hospital was insisting that she speak at this conference at Calderdale due to her trauma expertise. Bernie couldn’t deny that the hospital did need some guidance for their emergency centers, but this was supposed to be her one weekend to herself. 

 

She gripped the steering wheel of her small car and made her way North. She supposed that she would still get some time to herself over the weekend as the lecture was only Saturday evening. It was still midday on Friday, plenty of time to get checked into the hotel and find a nice pub for the evening. The little inn the hospital had booked for her was right by the hospital, and she was glad that the area would at least be walkable. 

 

Since divorcing her husband, Bernie found herself having a hard time wanting to go out in public. Logically, she knew that she’d never meet someone new if she didn’t go out, but she still felt unsure about the conventions of dating as a middle-aged woman. She was confident enough in herself, but how exactly did one let the world know that they wanted to date women and not men? She’d found herself looking online at various places that were LGBTQ friendly, but they all seemed to be for the younger crowd, and younger was something she was not looking for. Goodness knows, her adult children would be mortified if she ever came home with a woman near their age. No, she wanted someone who could match her in maturity, in experience, and perhaps someone who could understand her history with trauma-- both in and outside of a hospital. 

 

The roads began to fill the closer she came to Halifax, and Bernie found herself growing more and more eager to be out of the car. Gradually, the streets gave way to a cozy little town, and she navigated her way towards the inn as her GPS dictated. As she arrived, the sun was beginning to move its way downward, and she was glad she’d packed a heavier shirt for nightfall. There were a few parking spots near the inn, and she parallel parked between two older sedans. 

 

Grabbing her suitcase from her trunk, she made her way down the road towards the inn. The air was crisp and fresh, and the buildings were older than the ones in her neighborhood. There were a few people out on the streets, and the smells of local cafes filled her senses. Bernie made her way into the front room to check in. The receptionist was a smaller, older woman with rather large glasses.

 

“Name?” 

 

“Bernie Wolfe, just a room for one, should be,” she said.

 

“Ernie Roof?” The lady asked. 

 

Louder this time, “BERNIE WOLFE.” 

 

“Can you spell that?” 

 

She held back an eye roll. “B-E-R-N….” 

 

“Oh Bernie! Why didn’t you say so, dear!” The woman said. She tapped her ear. “Not what they used to be ‘m ‘fraid!” She ran an arthritic hand down the ancient computer screen until she found her name. Her hand moved the mouse around, and Bernie heard a few clicks before the machine printer began whirring. 

 

The old lady stepped back and grabbed the sheet. “Just sign here,” she said. “We serve breakfast at seven.” 

 

Bernie scribbled her signature across the page and handed it back. The lady slipped her a key with the hotel’s logo attached to a small keychain. “Enjoy, Ms. Wolfe!” 

 

Bernie nodded in thanks, held back a smile, and made her way upstairs. The place was cozy, had some age, and smelled like fresh baked bread. 

 

Her room could be described as cute, perhaps a little homy, and it was outfitted with a nicely made queen size bed and a rustic bedside table. 

 

She threw her luggage into the corner and fell into the bed. It was soft and smelled of clean linen, and the thought of napping seemed exquisite. She checked her watch-- just a few minutes past three-- she could easy doze for an hour… or two… 

 

Xxxxxx 

  
  


“This is what’s best for you!” Catherine said with a small smile. “I know, it’s kind of shitty right now, but I promise after 30 days, you’re going to feel brand new.” She hugged her sister Clare. She placed her hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Work hard, don’t fuck around, and I’ll see you very soon.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Clare began, but Catherine shook her head. “Don’t apologize to me, relapses happen. Just…. Just be kind to yourself okay?” Clare nodded. 

 

“Time to go,” the nurse said, and gently placed her hand on Clare. 

 

Catherine took a step back and watched her sister disappear into the back of the rehab center. She was sad to see her go, but knew it was for the best. Helen Gallagher’s death had been harder on her than she’d let on, and she’d relapsed. Catherine didn’t want to know the details of her sister’s relapse, but when she’d come home to her nodding off on the sofa with Ryan upstairs, she knew that she’d needed 30 days to sober up, possibly more. She was taking it one day at the time, and she’d acquiesce to whatever her counselor recommended. 

 

Halifax was pleasant today, and she figured she’d stay in the center of town for a while before heading back home. Ryan was staying with Richard for the night, so she’d have some time to herself. She checked her watch-- it was just shortly after 5pm. No reason for her to stay sober, even if her sister had to But first, she needed a smoke. 

 

There was a little pub a few blocks up from the rehab center. Her stomach growled, and she figured she could use a beer or two with some fish and chips. 

 

She was standing beside the door finishing her smoke when a tall blonde came up and stood beside her, also smoking. Her hair was messy and her bangs were falling in her eyes, and she looked slightly lost. Catherine nodded politely to her. 

 

“Come here often?” The woman asked. 

 

Catherine nodded, “Sometimes, when I’m around. I usually just get take out. . .” she started to say that there was no one to go home to today, but thought that would be revealing too much. 

 

The woman smiled and nodded, exhaled. “I’m not from around here, just here for a medical conference. Thought I’d walk around and try something new.” 

 

“A medical conference? At Calderdale?” She asked. 

 

The woman nodded. “I’m supposed to be speaking about trauma.” 

 

Catherine gave a small laugh, “Well we certainly have our share of that around here.” 

 

The woman stubbed out her cigarette and extended her hand. “I’m Bernie.” 

Catherine shook her hand. “Catherine.” 

 

Bernie smiled. “Care to join me? I was going to eat alone but if you’re here, too…” 

 

“Okay. But let’s sit at the bar. The service is faster.” 

 

The two made their way inside. Bernie was slightly taller than her, and a little bit leaner. Her hair was shorter and blonder than hers, and it had a slight curl to it. She was wearing jeans, boots, and a button down, and she couldn’t help but notice the woman’s natural attractiveness. 

 

“Can I get whatever’s on draft and fish and chips?” Catherine asked. 

 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Bernie said. 

 

“Not a beer drinker?”

 

“I usually go for whiskey, but it is a little early.” 

 

Catherine was mildly impressed, “Knows trauma and has some self control, how rare.” 

 

Bernie gave a small chuckle, “I said it was early, I didn’t say it wouldn’t happen later.” She got out her wallet and waved off Catherine’s attempt to pay. “My treat.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Catherine took a swallow and looked around the room. The pub wasn’t too packed, but she was sure in an hour or so it would fill up. 

 

“So,” Bernie said, “What do you do?” 

 

“I’m a police officer, but I won’t bore you with all the stories,” she said, hoping to turn the conversation away from her. 

 

“Ah,” Bernie replied. “I’m sure there are plenty. I have plenty of war stories myself.” 

 

“Trauma, you said?” 

 

“Yes, that’s my specialty. I was in the army for a while, and then when I became a civilian I started working at Holby City.” 

 

“Oh, was that transition hard? My sister accuses me of not being able to stop being a cop.” 

 

Bernie thought for a moment. “Parts of it were hard. I miss it, but then again I don’t. But I like the work I do as a doctor.” 

 

Catherine nodded. “Sounds very similar,” 

 

“Although I’m learning that my bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, according to some of my colleagues,” Bernie smirked.

 

She nodded, “I’m not so warm and soft either.” 

 

Bernie looked her up and down, and gave her a small smile, “No, I don’t think you are.” Catherine could feel Bernie’s eyes lingering on her for perhaps a second too long, and she felt herself suddenly self-conscious about the way she looked. She hadn’t thought she’d be having dinner with a doctor tonight. 

 

Xxxxxxx

 

Bernie looked Catherine up and down. She was beautiful, but not in the way you’d expect. Her blonde hair was pulled back with fringe falling on the sides, and it was a few shades darker than Bernie’s own hair. She was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans with a pair of working boots. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need any. Her skin was clear and bright, and her eyes were an amazing crystal blue. No, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman or cop that someone could push over. 

 

Bernie pulled her eyes away, hoping she hadn’t lingered for too long. She took a sip of her beer and couldn’t help but make a face. 

 

“Not the best, is it?” Catherine asked with a small smile. 

 

“No, I can’t say it is,” Bernie agreed. 

 

“But,” Catherine took a swig, “It’ll do the trick. So when’s the conference?” 

 

“Tomorrow, from 9--3, if I remember correctly. I’m supposed to give a small talk about how Holby City deals with their trauma patients. I think Calderdale is trying to modernize the way it deals with it.” 

 

Catherine nodded. “There’s some problems with violence here, but mostly we have issues with drug problems, at least, that’s what I usually see on the force. A lot of the crime that we deal with seems to stem from that problem.” 

 

“Is it so bad?” Bernie asked. 

 

Catherine pondered it for a second. “I think it’s fairly bad for an area like this. The further out you get from the city, the more shitty the drugs. People are overdosing all the time, or they get strung out on something bad and act out.” 

 

Bernie nodded, listening intently. It was clear Catherine cared about her job and the issues in her town. “And I guess you get the short end of the stick as a cop.” 

 

“Well, I suppose so, but that’s work.” 

 

“I see a lot of car crashes usually, sometimes people coming in with stab wounds or gunshot wounds. I never really know the back story, usually I’m just called into theatre to stop the bleeding and repair the trauma.” 

 

“And that’s what you’ll be talking about tomorrow?” 

 

“More or less.” 

 

Catherine nodded and took a sip. The bartender came around and brought them their order, and Bernie’s stomach gave an appreciative growl. 

 

As Catherine began eating, Bernie noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Hoping not to be too intrusive, she cautiously asked, “Divorced?” 

 

“Pardon?”

 

Bernie motioned towards Catherine’s finger, “Sorry, can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a ring,” she then pointed towards her own finger. “I got divorced about a year ago.” 

 

“Oh,” Catherine said and looked at her hand, as if she hadn’t noticed. “Yes, I am, but for a while now.” 

 

Bernie nodded understandingly. “I should have asked for a divorce sooner, but I suppose I was too scared.” 

 

“Let me guess, work got in the way?” 

 

Bernie looked down and blushed, and memories of her and Alex during their time in the service flooded her mind. Though she knew the divorce was inevitable, she still felt guilty that it was her indiscretions that led towards its demise. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she could have gone about it all better than having a secretive affair for years. 

 

Catherine must have sensed Bernie’s reverie, and she broke through her thoughts, “Sorry, have I put my foot in it?” 

 

Bernie snapped her head up, “No, sorry, just… lots of memories, I suppose.” 

 

She nodded understandingly. “Never so simple.” 

 

Bernie took a couple bites of food. “So what brings you to town today?” 

 

Catherine debated whether or not she wanted to answer. It would be easy enough to lie about her reasons for being in Halifax today… She could say work, or friends, or just a visit… but for some reason she felt compelled to give Bernie an honest answer. “My sister’s going into rehab today.”

 

“Oh, oh I’m sorry to hear that.” Bernie said genuinely.

 

“Don’t be. She’s been in recovery for a while now, but the death of her friend just proved to be a bit much. She’ll be right before long, she always seems to find her footing again.” 

 

“Are you close?” 

 

“Very. She lives with me. We both look after my grandson together.” 

 

Bernie smiled. “He’s really lucky to have you.” 

 

Catherine took a bite of her food. “I think he’d disagree with you most days.” 

 

“Wouldn’t all kids? I’m sure mine have a few things they could say about me, too. I know me being in the army wasn’t the easiest on them.” 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

  
  


Not knowing what to say, Catherine nodded and finished up the rest of her food. Bernie was still working on her fish, and her beer sat half-empty. Catherine motioned for the bartender to refill her glass. 

 

Her mind drifted to her own kids, about the difficult relationship she had with her son, about the lost relationship with her departed daughter. She wondered what she would have been like now, had she lived. She wondered if she’d be a good mother, or if she would have kept down on the destructive path she was on. She missed her so much, the pain had barely subsided over the years. She wondered how Bernie’s relationship was with her children, if her time in the army had really fractured their relationship, or if it just meant that the kids missed her more. 

 

She took another sip and took a long look at Bernie. Her arms were strong and lean, and her legs seemed to go for miles. Her shirt was a button-down, and from the edge of her shirt, she could see the faintest outline of a scar on her chest. She wondered how she’d gotten it, if it was a childhood scar or something from her military career. She wondered how far down it went, wondered if she had any other scars. 

 

“See something you like?” Bernie said softly. 

 

Catherine, slightly embarrassed, “Your scar.” 

 

“IED,” Bernie said. “Then major surgery to repair afterwards.” 

 

“Oh,” Catherine said. “I’m sorry. Did it hurt?” 

 

Bernie nodded. “I came to Holby for treatment. That was my first official introduction to the hospital, then I guess I kind of stayed there.” She wiped her hands on her napkin and finished her beer. 

 

“I’m stuffed,” Bernie said. “Care for another smoke?” 

 

“Nothing I’d like more,”

 

The two women rose and headed toward the door. Catherine couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on Bernie’s legs as she walked in front of her, they looked so good in those dark jeans. 

 

_ What am I thinking?  _  Catherine shook her head, as if to free her from the thoughts.  _ Must be the beer.  _

 

Xxxxxxxxxx

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
